'Good morning, officer,' the doctor says as he enters. The priest looks up from his desk and nods. Two of them for one patient, no wonder the whole system is backed up. But the Cult doesn't trust the Order and vice versa. So there's always two.
The doctor runs through the usual health checks. Any weight loss since last month, any lapses in sleep, any panic attacks. Then he moves over to the priest's desk to answer some more abstract questions. Has he felt any urges? Has he found himself suddenly understanding things he previously did not understand? How does he feel about this image? A picture of a goat.
He dreads the end of the questions. It means the more physical part of the treatment is due.
He needn't be asked to strip and don a gown, he knows that comes next. The act reveals the slightly-aged, tightly-wound bandages around his chest, midriff, upper arms, thighs, and calves.
The doctor walks around him, peeling the bandages from his body. The first off is the one on his chest. The scarred symbols on his back and on his breast itch something fierce as fresh air wafts over them. Inside, he feels the beast stir.
Once all the bandages are off, the doctor checks for inflammations and infections. When he's satisfied, he moves from site to site with a needle, dosing him with local anesthetic. It doesn't stop all the pain but it helps. Then he goes over to the cot, where the priest is waiting with his scalpels.
Lying under the bright halo of lights, he listens as the priest mumbles bored incantations and swings a little censor about, knocking trails of incense around the cot. Meanwhile, the doctor prepared the iodine wash for after the procedure.
'Right, ready?' asks the priest. No. He never is. How could he ever be?
'Yes.'
The priest rubs a hand over the scarred symbol on his chest, like a butcher appraising a choice cut. Then he lines up the scalpel on the old wound and traces the path he will make with his finger. The symbols must be made afresh each month, or they won't work. At least that's what they're told.
He feels the cold steel break the surface of his skin. He grimaces as he feels the flesh parting down his breast.
Inside, the beast screams.
Paddy Dobson
13th September 2021